Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian dreams of falling.
He’s been falling for a very long time. He thinks, sometimes, that he never stopped falling until Mo Xanyu made him hit the ground. Some might say it started with Nightless City, some might say it started with the Burial Mounds. That very first time he fell, though, that very first time gravity dragged him to the cold, hard-packed earth, he was two years old and riding on a donkey.
His mother and father had always been laughing, singing songs, happily chattering away, but that day, there was horrible, death-born silence. His mother’s hand on the donkey’s flank had driven it at breakneck pace into the woods, far away from vengeful spirits, but Wei Ying had not been able to hold on. He’d tumbled to the ground, scraped raw, crying silent tears. He’d understood the need for silence.
His parents never returned for him and he wandered the woods alone until he found people who would occasionally give him bread, if he looked particularly needy.
When he died the second time, falling, falling, always falling, he had lost his family three, no, four times over.
He could not bear losing the very last of it.
He could not be the reason Lan Wangji would be falling, too.
+
He had once asked his sister: How can one person like another person so much?
How can a heart hold that much love? How can a body bear the stress of that much yearning?
How can Wei Wuxian love him and not despair?
Sorry and thank you are the hardest things one could learn to say, but I love you is harder still, and some never manage it at all.
+
They part on the mountain, Wei Wuxian playing the song Lan Zhan once sang for him. It feels like a secret and a promise. They will see each other again, and soon. But for now, their paths carry them to opposite ends of the world and Wei Wuxian is not exactly happy about it. There are things he needs to do, things he needs to understand, and Lan Zhan has his own duties. It’s sensible for them to part.
That doesn’t mean he likes any of it.
Wei Wuxian, despite rumors to the contrary, can actually make sensible choices every once in a while, when it benefits the greater good. He’s not a demon carried through the world on instinct and desire alone, no matter what some people like to think. But today he really, really wants to be. He wants to attach himself to Lan Zhan and never, ever let go. Sleep with him every night, spend his days at his side.
But they are both adults and Wei Wuxian needs to prove that by walking this road alone, for a little while.
His resolve lasts for exactly the length of a song.
As the last notes of their song drift away from him, Wei Wuxian smirks at the landscape before him and bites his fingers to draw blood. The little paper talisman is an old friend, a good companion, a sneaky little bugger, and he wonders, as he sends the thing to fly on the wind toward Lan Zhan, how long he can manage to stay hidden.
He navigates the air with ease and lands on white robes with perfect form. Wei Wuxian draws his attention away to see how much is needed for his little paper man to remain animated. It’s surprisingly not very much, if all it needs to do is hold on. Even for someone like him, so depleted of spiritual energy that he can barely hold his sword, that should be sustainable for long periods of time. He crawls up toward Lan Zhan’s belt and tucks himself in, hiding from view and other dangers.
Wei Wuxian points Little Apple westward, to Yunmeng, and then further, to Yiling. He cannot know where his future will take him without consulting the past. He cannot pledge himself without making sure that when he promises forever, it is something he can keep.
+
Lan Wangji, Chief Cultivator. It’s a ridiculous notion and everyone knows it, but at this point in time their choices are severely limited. It does give him the power to uphold his vow on a greater scale, change the world for the better, make sure that people of all kinds will be treated fairly. It’s an opportunity to do good.
A lifetime ago, it would have made him happy. Before he understood that all he needed to be happy, was to be with Wei Ying.
Today, it irritates him. He thinks he’s actually done a fairly good job at keeping those feelings hidden, when he walks into his brother’s residence and Lan Xichen shakes his head. “I take it he’s gone?”
Lan Xichen can read him like an open book and he often finds the text entirely too amusing. Lan Wangji sighs minutely and sits at the table set for guests. His fists are curled tight where they rest on his knees and he breathes deeply to shake off the tension.
“He is gone,” Lan Wangji says, and it’s supposed to be nothing but an affirmation of the fact, but it comes out far too desperate for his taste. He wants those words to be a lie and that’s ridiculous. They both agreed. It’s sensible.
It occurs to Lan Wangji, that neither he nor Wei Ying are particularly sensible people.
Lan Xichen smiles and settles at the corner of the table. It gives him a full view of Lan Wangji’s profile. “How long will he be away?”
Lan Wangji gives up his attempt to appear aloof. “He did not say.”
“I must wonder why you did not ask him to stay,” Lan Xichen says, not unkindly.
That’s when Lan Wangji feels a strange sensation, like a spider crawling up his spine. He fights the urge to swat it away. There are no spiders in Gusu, at least none that would dare to venture out in daylight. It settles at the shoulder blade that’s on the opposite side from Lan Xichen, out of sight.
Lan Wangji suddenly knows what this is and fights to suppress a groan. Wei Ying. Never a dull moment with his beloved. He tries to avoid paying any attention to the little talisman. “After everything that’s happened, I would not be the one to demand more sacrifice of him.”
Did you know there are wild dogs in the mountains? They’re very scary! I’m sleeping in a tree tonight for sure. Also, what sacrifice?
Lan Wangji is not going to have this conversation like this. He stands up and moves toward the doors. Lan Xichen sighs. “I did not mean to offend you.” He sounds almost angry, like he no longer trusts his own words and perceptions.
Lan Wangji turns to his brother and truly looks at him. Lan Xichen appears smaller, somehow, like some vital part has been taken from him. “Brother, none of your words will ever offend me, for they are always spoken from the heart. I trust your judgment even if you can’t trust it yourself.”
Lan Xichen nods and Lan Wangji takes it as a dismissal. He bows, because his brother deserves respect, perhaps now more than ever before. He is such a good person and-
Your brother needs some better friends.
Ah, yes. And that.
Outside, he reaches back and touches the talisman with his fingers, urging it to step into his palm. The feather light touches make him shiver. He brings the little magical toy up to his line of sight and tries to give him a reproachful stare, but all he manages is a soft smile. The talisman bows before him.
“Wei Ying,” he says, and can’t think of what else needs to be said.
Ah, Lan Zhan, are you angry at me? I swear I’m not trying to intrude on your privacy. I just… I just missed you.
“I’m not angry,” Lan Wangji says, which is the truth. He’s delighted to have whatever part of himself Wei Ying is willing to share. He had been afraid, a little, that pursuing their separate paths would lead them away from each other. Wei Ying burns so bright, how could anyone resist that spark? He could have anyone he wanted. There’s no reason for Wei Ying to tie himself to Lan Wangji, especially now that duty has bound him more thoroughly to Gusu Lan.
Wei Ying should always be free.
Oh, good. Right. I’m glad!
The little paper man scratches at his palm with its foot, something that looks so endearingly like Wei Ying, it makes Lan Wangji smile. He wants to ask many things. How are you? How far away? When will you be back? Can you come home, please? But none of these questions are fair and Lan Wangji stays silent.
He sets the paper man on his shoulder and speaks softly to it, as if to Wei Ying’s ghost all those years and years. He’s had quite a bit of practice, but this is an infinitely lighter burden - Wei Ying may be absent, but he is alive. Vibrant and beautiful and fierce. He is alive.
Lan Wangji cannot be unhappy.
+
The weather seems to share Wei Wuxian’s mood. Capricious winds tear at his clothes, colder than he expected this time of year, and the clouds are grey and foreboding. He sighs and drags Little Apple along the road, humming Lan Zhan’s song to himself. He understands that it is precious, but without a name it feels like he’s missing the biggest piece of the puzzle.
He tries not to project himself into the paper man too often. Controlling it is one thing, but seeing and hearing through it, being there in its place, as tempting as it is, requires too much of his energy. But he desperately wants to be there, be with Lan Zhan, both day and night, and always.
“Ah, Little Apple, what a fool I am. I’m sure Lan Zhan has better things to do.” Lan Zhan is an important figure now and Wei Wuxian feels pride swell his chest. He’s always known that Lan Zhan is the greatest cultivator of their generation, the best man he has ever known. It’s only proper that the rest of the world finally understands this very simple fact.
Even when he thought him stuffy and unyielding, which was obviously patently untrue, Wei Wuxian had held a deep admiration for him. It was perhaps the reason why he always wanted to get some kind of rise out of him, scratch the gilded surface to find the steel underneath. Admiration.
His feelings are more complicated now and Wei Wuxian is man enough to admit that he doesn’t quite understand it. When they’re close, he feels full like a starving man after a great banquet. When they’re apart, he feels like his breath can never quite fill his lungs, like his heart can’t beat fast enough to fill his body with life.
Wei Wuxian wonders, sometimes, if he is sick, and Lan Zhan is the cure.
Little Apple suddenly stops, as if startled, and refuses to budge no matter how much Wei Wuxian pulls at her reins. He huffs and puffs and pouts at her, but nothing works, until it occurs to him that she is rarely so headstrong without a reason, not anymore.
Immediately, the muscles in his back tighten and his senses sharpen. Wei Wuxian’s gaze darts around to the trees on the side of the road, waiting for an ambush. The noise around them doesn’t change, no break in the cacophony of birds, no sudden movement that sets them to screaming. His grip on Chengqing relaxes minutely. There’s nothing here but the natural world, not even very many ghosts.
He laughs at himself for being so jumpy and starts scolding Little Apple softly, when he hears the pitiful mewl.
Wei Wuxian has never met a cry for help that he could resist. He searches for the source of the small sound and almost misses the dirty burlap sack. It’s roughspun, pieces torn from the fabric and blood covering it in small blotches - it looks like it has been beaten against the large boulders at his feet. The noise comes from the sack and its surface moves slowly, as if the tiniest hint of life is trying to struggle out of it.
He almost doesn’t crouch down. He almost walks away, because he knows exactly what this is. The wild dogs of the region sometimes come close enough to human settlements for their litters to be discovered, and the farmers afraid for their livestock are not squeamish about taking care of business.
Wei Wuxian picks up a small stick and carefully lifts the opening of the sack. The small, broken bodies make him swallow his fear and his resentment. He understands necessity, but this seems needlessly cruel. He reaches out with his hand and finds something soft that’s still warm, still breathing somehow, if only very shallow.
He pulls out the pup, no larger than his outstretched hand, and sighs at the revelation that he can not leave it here to die.
“Who would have guessed, huh? Wei Wuxian, the fearsome Yiling Patriarch, and here I am all shuddery at the sight of you.”
The dog, eyes still shut tight, tries to suckle at his finger and whimpers pathetically when the effort does not yield any milk. There’s a strange lack of movement to its left hind leg and blood mats its fur from several deep cuts. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure the little thing will make it through the night and decides that this is a burden he can bear. He can make the little one’s last night soft and warm and safe.
When he returns to the road, Little Apple looks as if she approves and no longer needs any persuasion to move.
+
Wei Wuxian tries, to both their embarrassment, to milk Little Apple. It yields nothing but a betrayed huff and a kick that misses his shoulder by a hair. He grimaces apologetically and produces an apple from his robes to get back into her good graces, but the donkey only shakes herself and walks off in clear disapproval.
“Ah, I suppose that went better than I could have expected.”
He returns to the small fire he’s made and checks on the puppy. Cleaned up, the injuries don’t look half as bad as they had earlier and wrapped in a cocoon of Wei Wuxian’s second set of robes, at least it’s stopped shivering.
“Hey,” he says, and touches the pup’s head softly with two of his fingers. He’s got so little spiritual energy, he can’t actually channel any of it into the creature to heal it, but touch seems to make it feel better anyway. It squirms a little, trying to raise its head to get closer. Wei Wuxian is not a monster, public opinion notwithstanding, so he carefully picks up the puppy and brings it to his chest. He strokes the silky soft fur.
“Unfortunately, Little Apple was not inclined to be helpful, so I’m going to have think of something else to feed you.” The pup, not entirely helpfully, tries to suckle at his fingers again and makes terribly adorable noises.
Wei Wuxian tells himself he is not moved by this plea. He’s trying to think of spells that could be modified to be useful here. Cultivation is very much an art of transformation, of energy, of the self, of the world around them. It should not be hard to turn water into milk.
His experiments with his water skin, one-handed because his other hand is still occupied by a small, defenseless creature, yield a thick, milky substance that smells a little weird but seems to be fine. Wei Wuxian tastes it, for safety, and shudders because it’s definitely milk, but it’s not from a cow or goat. At the very least it’s not toxic. He pokes a small hole into the water skin and puts it where the puppy can reach.
The satisfied mewling and sudden strength in the little body surprise him, and there’s a little bit of an edge of fear there Wei Wuxian tries to ignore. The thing is blind, deaf and unable to regulate its body temperature. Being afraid is completely illogical.
+
Lan Wangji is not exactly afraid of the general concept of people. He has very solid fears that are easy to understand and compartmentalize, and they mostly involve the people he loves: Wei Ying, his son, his brother. He’s become very good at keeping those fears at bay, mostly by making sure that nothing bad can ever touch them, and also denial.
There’s a line somewhere between the mad, rigorous control he wants to keep on all three of them and thus becoming his own father, and letting them live their lives completely free of a Lan’s emotional tyranny. It’s a process.
He’s not afraid of people. But oh, he’s not a natural at this. Diplomacy and politics elude him, always have. He’s not good at it and has no patience to learn. What he’s seen of it in the last two decades has always left a bad taste in his mouth. Jin Guangyao was a master at this art and there are very few people Lan Wangji wants to be compared to less than him. That man’s father, maybe, or Wen Ruohan, but that’s more a reflection of how bad things had gotten before, than the quality of Jin Guangyao’s character.
Right now, he wishes to be anywhere else but the rooms that had become his official space as the Chief Cultivator. It used to be a broom closet and he often thinks that it has lost instead of gained in utility.
“Yes,” he says, trying to keep the resentment out of his voice. “I’m aware of the situation.” How could he not be aware? The two small clans have been bombarding him with letters and envoys about their two errant disciples and the child that they had brought into the world. They’re currently living under the Lan clan’s protection, but both clan leader Zhang and clan leader Shuang are adamant that the child be assigned to their clan. The girl in question, at two years old, is already clearly bursting with raw magical talent, and her parents are terrified of what the cultivation world is going to do to her.
Considering what happened to most talented female cultivators Lan Wangji has known, he’s inclined to agree with the parents. Keep the child as far away from this whole mess as possible. Let her be a normal girl. Unfortunately, talent like hers reminds him of Wei Ying and it’s not entirely impossible that she might become a danger to herself and others if she remains untrained.
A commotion outside the door brings a welcome distraction. Lan Sizhui tumbles into the meeting room, Lan Jingyi hot on his heels. They’re both excited, not anxious, and that sets Lan Wangji’s mind halfway at ease. They're bowing profusely, but without much grace, when they realize they've interrupted official business.
“Hanguang-Jun! Jin clan has arrived early, they're at the gates!"
Lan Jingyi is practically bursting with excitement, but Lan Wangji can see the quiet delight in his son's eyes and that's even more effective. "I take it clan leader Jin has decided to come himself."
Lan Sizhui nods. "Yes. May we go down to greet them?"
Lan Wangji nods and rises from his seat. "I will accompany you." To the two men who are currently glaring daggers at each other, Lan Wangji only offers a curt nod. “We will pick this up tomorrow.”
They don’t look happy, but Lan Wangji doesn’t care and sweeps out of the rooms with all the gravitas his office bestows upon him. Annoying people like that is the only true benefit to the position and he’s going to enjoy it as much as he can.
That was fierce. The little voice of the paper man says, and Lan Wangji can’t help but smile. They’re in public so he cannot answer without giving the game away and he thinks sometimes Wei Ying uses that to his mischievous advantage.
You should do that more often. I like it.
Lan Wangji doesn’t blush, but it’s a near thing. At the entrance to Gusu, Jin Ling is bouncing on his toes and when the wards are opened, he and the two Lan disciples fall into a thorough three-ways hug that has to be squeezing at least some vital parts in uncomfortable ways. They look like they’ve not seen each other in months, which is ridiculous, it’s only been two weeks or so since the incident at the Burial Mounds, never mind Guanyin temple.
The Jin retinue is, frankly, an embarrassment. Jin clan still has assets for sure, but their supply of actual cultivation talent is so meager it amounts to Jin Ling and two young teen girls that can barely hold a sword. Everyone else is dead or imprisoned. There are a few servants, and several horses they’ll have to stable, but mostly the Jin clan is currently an absence of leadership and power. If Lang Wangji had doubted his choice, this would make him reconsider. Power abhors a vacuum, and resentful energy thrives in its shadow.
“Clan leader Jin,” he says, bowing to Wei Ying’s sort-of-nephew. “It’s a pleasure to have you at the cultivation conference.”
+
Wei Wuxian is surrounded. He knows this is a memory, knows in his bones this is done and gone, a dream. A nightmare. But that doesn’t change the sorrow and the fear and the anger. He’s on fire with, lit up like a bonfire in the heart of winter, crackling and ruinous.
He reaches for the sword and it’s not the promise of revenge. There’s only one voice that can drag him out of this particular despair, one voice he can never leave unanswered.
Wei Ying.
Not all of the ghosts of the Burial Mounds were dead.
He touches the sword and it fills the emptiness inside him, fills him up with resentment and all the pain in the world. It’s not so different from his own. It’s not so very different at all. He’s always been kin to these spirits and they know it. They were waiting for him.
Back then, giving himself to this dark, supposedly demonic energy was the easiest thing in the world. They were always clear in their desires, clear in what they needed, what they wanted, what he owed them.
He feels the empty parts of him fill up and up and up with this darkness and it threatens to consume him with agony and flames. But something disrupts the memory, something tears him away up and out, like a soft butterfly wing.
He wakes to the whimpers of a small, terrified creature on his chest, curled up and shaking. He can feel sweat on his brow, his breath short and ragged, his arms and legs heavy as lead. He reaches for the puppy and at the touch of his hand the creature begins, slowly, to relax.
Do dogs have nightmares? Can they follow into yours?
Wei Wuxian breathes through his anxiety, breathes and counts the beats of his heart, getting all parts of himself slowly back under control. He’s still petting the puppy, who has begun to snore softly - tiny, yipping sounds emerging on every other breath.
Wei Wuxian concentrates, puts all his focus where his heart is, and finds himself in the Jingshi.
+
Lan Wangji has had a day. Cultivators from all over the world have arrived in small groups, some offering gifts and sincerity, others barely contained resentment. Not everyone is happy with Lan Wangji’s appointment as Chief Cultivator, of course, but some reeked of trouble. He’s glad for Lan Sizhui and the others of his generation, at least, who are all staunchly on his side in terms of both hero worship and sticking it to their parents.
He’s got some leverage there and he’ll depend on A-Yuan to make use of it when needed. Not for the first time, he fiercely misses Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan , says the paper man. Lan Zhan! Where am I and why is it so dark?!
Lan Wangji smiles and takes the clutter off the little talisman. “You’re with me.” Always.
The paper man dusts itself off and shudders exaggeratedly, something that should not look as cute as it does. It tries to sit down cross-legged on the table in front of Lan Wangji, but its little stubby legs are too short. Lan Wangji bites down on a laugh. “Are you well?” Wei Ying heaves the greatest sigh a paper man has ever sighed.
I think I’ve done something very stupid and I need your help.
Lan Wangji tenses, unsure if this is serious or Wei Ying’s usual overdramatics. What he wouldn’t give to see Wei Ying’s eyes, the curl of his lips. It would be so easy to judge, then. “Anything I can do, I will.”
Wei Ying’s talisman stands up and crosses its arms for emphasis. I may have, and I want you to know that this is definitely a temporary situation as soon as I can find someone to take it off me, adopted a puppy.
There is silence between them, a silence so thick it can be cut with a sword. Lan Wangji doesn’t know what’s happening. Is Wei Ying in danger? Is this some kind of code? A joke he doesn’t get?
“I see,” Lan Wangji says, even though he very emphatically does not see.
It’s so small, Lan Zhan. It’s all wrinkly and soft and its eyes aren’t even open yet and I think there’s something wrong with its leg. What do I do?
There’s an edge of panic in Wei Ying’s voice and that’s what convinces Lan Wangji that this is a real thing that’s really happening right now. He’s suddenly unbelievably thankful for Lan self-control, because this is not a moment to laugh, no matter how terribly, terribly funny it is. Wei Ying is clearly in despair. But it is such a ridiculous, mundane despair it releases a tension Lan Wangji had not been aware of carrying.
“Alright,” he says, and encourages the paper man onto his palm. “I can tell you what you would do if it were a bunny, I’m sure dogs are not so very different.”
And so they talk, not just about the puppy, long into the night. Lan Wangji doesn’t mind the curfew or the early morning, for this is the best part of his day: Wei Ying.